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Helen Nov 2013
First Date: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/first-date-17/ (best read in order)

It was so cold inside the cave

   So cold!

   He didn’t understand when the restaurant faded and the stone walls rose around him that he was trapped. He was suddenly the prey and he didn’t like it. Not at all, but he was happy to see where the fantasy would take him. He could only hope and prey?

   He silently smirks at his own private joke before he remembers where he is and briefly contemplates where he was before he came here.

   He was sitting across from the most beautiful women he has ever seen. Her bare shoulders were like silk beneath his subtly brushing fingertips and he knew instinctively by her indrawn breath as he ran his hand up her bared leg that he was the luckiest man alive. He seated himself across from her and simply stared into her eyes.

   He sees in her eyes all her fantasies.

   He is a demon from the dark. He is fire and brimstone. All encompassing as all the sins of the flesh, burning her, setting her on fire, a raging inferno that can not be sated with just a few drops of sweat upon her brow.

   Hmmm… I like this he thinks as he sips the ice cold water that has suddenly appeared in front of him, but for now he’s thirsty it seems.

   The flames from a hundred or more candles flicker in her dark eyes as the scene changes and becomes a darker conflagration of her dreams.

   This is getting more interesting he ponders her stare as he lifts his hand to stroke the satin skin of her knuckles across his lips

   Now he is a wolf. A creature of the night. She has seen beyond his façade and she’s running. Triggering his hunting instinct. He can only chase her. There is nothing else for him to do. He must claim the other half of himself that calls to his predatory nature. He is ready to claim his mate and he’ll take her like the wild animal that he is!

   Yes!

   He’s seen that all in her eyes, until the millions of candles fade to just a small torch and the walls that clutched at them with intimacy are now just coarse stone and the illusion is lost.

   As she bends toward his neck, with sharp fangs, seeking her solace, he dissolves into mist. She screeches as her wickedly sharp teeth pierce her bottom lip with a sharp bite and instantly realizes she has lost her prey.

   He laughs eerily.

   Then, as the scent of her ancient blood rises to tease his more ancient nostrils and he subtly inhales with his soul, he sees that things are more complicated than he could ever hope they would never be...

   *He howls
Helen Nov 2013
It’s a lovely restaurant.

   Lovely.

   There is no artificial lighting. Just hundreds of candles that flicker from recessed niches in the walls and on every table.

   And you’ve done everything right so far. From seating me in my chair, with the slight brush of your knuckles across my bare shoulders as you removed my light jacket, to taking my purse from my bloodless fingers to place it next to my feet, you have excelled. As you knelt beside me and ran your fingertips up my bare leg you lift your perfect lips into a melting smile that promises everything.

   I want everything

   And there you are, sitting across from me. So perfect, my dream, my nightmare, my man of the hour, my choice. The candle light is kind to you and as I stare over the glass rim of a red wine I’m enthralled by your voice. I don’t know what you're saying but you just have to keep talking and I’ll just keep redrawing you in the candlelight.

   You have utterly, beguilingly captured me.

   The candle on the table has lit a fire in your eyes. I imagine the fires of Hell burn there and shiver at the thought of all that wickedness. The way you ran your fingers through your hair has tricked me into thinking that two small (very ****) horns protrude from your head. It’s an illusion, but one that I’m happy to run with.

   As you pick up my hand and feather kisses along my fingertips I feel the brush of the stubble on your face which I’m sure wasn’t there when we walked hand in hand to our table but the ****** hair is unmistakable. Is it possible I’m here with a Lycanthrope? Will our evening end with me running bare foot through the woods while a howl scrapes delicious shivers down my spine? Will I fall to my knees, a victim of the beast as it stalks me, scenting the wind, marking it’s prey, spying me and leaping to devour me? One glance at the full moon suggests I might be in for a wild night.

   In the candlelight you morph into all of my fantasies. But now, I’m just hungry.

   The illusion is just too hard to hold. I haven’t eaten since my last foray into the mortal world and I’m too tired to hold onto the hope that I can make it past reality.

   The restaurant drops away. The candles burn down to one lowly guttering torch and you're just a little boy (next to my 712 years) standing in a cave, where I have lured you and you're more than aware that you're not desert, you’re the main meal and the adrenaline coursing through your beautiful veins have my fangs dropping and my eyes smoldering but don’t worry, I can make it pleasurable, if I want to, it depends whether my fantasies have been strong enough, but I will respect you…

   Of course!
another 'not quite a' poem/story/fantasy :) there are several parts to this prose... may be posted later ;)
Helen Nov 2013
before you start reading, please not that the Barbie in this poem is not the registered trademark that is the Barbie doll (all is revealed in the notes)*

When Barbie wakes up in the morning
Even the birds stop chirping in fright
She makes her way to the wardrobe knowing
What is inside will start the day right

First to be donned is her barbarian bra
It takes quite a task to fill
She really is ever so grateful for her bra
It keeps all the best bits subdued and still

The bras must always go on first
Without it she would be in trouble
If the briefs went on first without the bra
To this day she’d still be bent over double

Next on are the bountiful bootylicious briefs
She worries that they may have shrunk
Mayhap she should stop putting them in the dryer
They are essential to keep all her junk in her trunk

Over the top of the barbarian bra
Goes a sweater with the deepest V neck you’ll find
The cleavage that is on display is important
It keeps the focus from straying to her behind

On go the boots and laced up tight
These babies were made for walking
But most days they are just for comfort
Unless she’s up for some stalking

Last of all on her perfectly coiffed head
She settles her beautiful hat
It looks a little like a large table umbrella
In fact, once upon a time, it was actually that!

She’s now ready to start her day
And the birds resume chirping like a choir
Barbie is ready to face the world dressed in her
Barbarian Bra and Bountiful Bootylicious Briefs and
Other Amazing Attire
in a now defunct (but never forgotten) online community that I was a member of I was known as barbieclone (barbie or babs for short) We used to have so much fun and I was forever being asked to just 'throw out a poem' usually I'd only have a couple of minutes to write it but it was the best fun ever.... this is a long forgotten piece of fun, dusted off to live again ;)
Helen Nov 2013
Twenty seven cracks
upon the ceiling
They have all been
counted before

Hundreds of rifts
no sign of healing
A burn to feel
no more

The muted sound
of another day
Makes no difference in
this world
On slivers of light
dust motes play
there is no joy for them
as they swirl

Over and over they come
to her
But there is no looking away
from the ceiling
Not once to them
would  it occur

Inside she is
Haunted
with feeling

The screaming banshee
never sleeps
Shrieks that make a
rapid climb

The torn and bleeding
heart that weeps

Jagged breaths mark
seconds in time

No time,
no place,
no form,
no space


Just high up
there is
the ceiling

No joy,
no love,


no sign
from above

Just an ever knowing
feeling

Knowing that it will all
go away
For a time
at twenty seven
The quiet
will dim
alas
it never
stays

*One..
Two..
Three..
Four..
Five..
Six..
Seven…
on oldie
Helen Nov 2013
Tasting like a new spring day
So soft and moist with dew
A small lift, a tilting smile
Promises all dreams do come true
One small sip is never enough
One soft word demands one more
One light kiss from your whispering lips
Is to drift away from shore
Sometimes the mask will crack
I see what there is to hide
Your whispering lips are still so soft
Gentle words still lilt on the tide
But there is now a bitter after taste
From your softly whispering lips
Demanding words are spoken
Poison glinting on their tips
I willingly kept drinking your words
Poison flowing through my veins
Such ghastly death I might of deserved
Where your words are all that remain
The ultimate shocking betrayal
That also became my demise
Did not spill for your whispering lips
But bled from your lying eyes.
an oldie
Helen Nov 2013
You
Lipstick on his collar

Me*
Bruises on my breast
Helen Nov 2013
I don't own many dresses
or pairs of shoes
Just a few special dresses
that make me look pretty
and a pair or two, of shoes
sandals for summer
sneakers in Winter

ten times the amount
I could have spent
was spent on you

I troll around a second hand store
because I think I'm unique
because extra funds bring you hope
denying things are bleak

Food on the table
a roof over your head
the latest Xbox game
cable Internet
my birthday laptop
you're insulting me on
Foxtel
112 Channels
While you sit
under a feather blanket
as others in the world
have yet to be fed
Breakfast, Lunch or Dinner

What's that you said?

You don't care what I think?
I don't know what it's like?
I'm destroying  your sense
of adventure?

Why don't you twist the knife?

Disrespected for my opinion
when you're green as new grass
Freedom most certainly is a right
but as all rights, it is earned
don't take what is not asked

I lost a most precious gift
because I could not comprehend
the lessons I was trying to teach
were so hard to defend

I'm not asking you to obey me
because I absolute rule your domain
I'm begging you to heed my wisdom

I have a right to remain

The absolute authority
on Life, an expert on how it unfolds
My body agrees by the strecthmarks
it holds,
My heart agrees in its tightness
to the breath it exhales
My soul exalts in its freedom
to breath trueness to its tales

I'm not just wanting to be a parent
I'm wanting to be a voice
a monument to mistakes made
a whisper of choice
A landmark in uncertain territory
a safe haven in a storm

If you defy Wisdom
from absolute tragedy
I become a useless memory

and I'm nothing but a receptacle
for you teenage angst

I'm am nothing

I am the norm
and a second one defies me! I just want to be a good Mum... is that so hard? Apparently, when I know nothing... Amazing I can make it to this age and be so naive..,
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